Requiem
by Laicamiel
Summary: She had not said one word to Paris since the night they had fled burning Troy like thieves. Helen she could speak with...After all, had not Briseis also fallen for the wrong man at the wrong time? But Paris she could not forgive.


AN: I wrote this after I saw Troy, which was a good movie, except for the atrocious scene where Achilles died. That was awful. It was as if it was written and directed by someone else. It really ruined the movie, in my opinion. So this is the idea that started bouncing around in my head after I saw it. Hope you like. (The first scene is slightly altered from the movie. My version of events, lol.)

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Requiem

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"Achilles!" He fell in front of her eyes, flinging aside the arrows that had pierced his torso. She ran to him, knelt before him with a gut-wrenching disbelief. "Achilles, no…"

He swallowed with difficulty, swaying a bit. "Do not regret my death, Briseis. I go to join my brothers. I go to meet my fate."

"This is not your fate. I will not let you go," she sobbed, tears blurring her vision, her hands sticky with his blood.

"You gave me peace, in a lifetime of war." She saw his eyes, bright and clear, as the tears fell from her lashes. Blue as the sky, and looking at her with—with love, she realized in wonder. _He loves me._ And this brought on a wave of sorrow so intense that she fought to stay upright. He smiled at her. "Go, Briseis."

She shook her head, speech stopped in her throat. Paris was calling her, dragging her away from Achilles, and she saw him fall to the ground, arms spread wide to the sky and heel pierced with her cousin's arrow, his hair a bright puddle on the stained grass.

* * *

Briseis awoke with wet cheeks, shivering in the night air that blew in through the tent flap. The fires burned low in their camp, and only a few men stood watch in the early morning hours. She turned to Andromache, who lay in a fitful sleep, her own nightmares surely keeping company with her slumber. Both of them woke during the night, gasping in terror and grief, but neither had been able to reach out to the other, for all that she knew her companion was awake. The hurt was still too raw.

Andromache still did not know of what had passed between Briseis and Achilles. Indeed, Briseis had told no one. She was not ashamed; on the contrary, she held him jealously in her heart like a closely guarded treasure she wished to share with no one. Especially Paris and Helen.

She had not said one word to Paris since the night they had fled Troy like thieves, as it burned down around their ears. The sight of him was painful to her. Helen she could speak with, if only for the necessities. She did not really blame Helen. After all, had not Briseis also fallen for the wrong man at the wrong time? No, she could not find malice in her heart for the pale, perfect beauty.

_The face that launched a thousand ships._

But Paris she could not forgive.

* * *

Andromache sat with her son, who was squalling. Astyanax had been irritable and cranky since they had left Troy, as if mourning his father unknowingly.

"He's hungry, Andromache," said Briseis gently, kneeling next to her cousin's wife. Andromache had been wasting away with grief, and her ten-month-old baby had been feeling it as much as she.

Andromache shook her head wearily. "I have not the milk to feed him, Briseis."

_Because you do not eat_, Briseis thought. But she did not give voice to her opinions. The other woman was too lost for Briseis to reach. These days Andromache spoke little and ate less. She did not meet anyone's eyes and would retire to her tent early in the evening, sometimes even before the setting of the sun. Briseis knew not how to help her.

_I cannot even help myself._

_

* * *

_

The dawn was breaking with long golden-red fingers over the desert. Briseis stood watching the sliver of sun slip above the horizon, burning her eyes as it grew brighter. It reminded her of Achilles. She found herself unable to look away.

Footsteps scraped on the sand behind her, and she turned to see who shared her restlessness this early morn.

Paris.

He looked weary and pale, his eyes dark bruises in his handsome face. It was a weak face, she decided.

"What ails you, my cousin?" he asks quietly.

Briseis bit down on the urge to lash out, to smite him with the jagged remnants of her broken heart. She pushed it all down, to a darkness she had created since the war, a chamber of her heart which refused light, so that the rest of it might have some relief.

"None of us sleep soundly these nights, Highness." Her voice was smooth, betraying no sign of the anger she kept in check.

He looked at her sharply. "Highness? Since when have you addressed me so formally, my cousin?"

She let out a brittle laugh. It sounded like something breaking. Paris flinched.

"Since you destroyed my country and murdered my love. Prince Paris of Troy. Although we cannot call you that any longer, can we?" she mused, her voice mocking.

His pale face brightened with angry colour. "I did not destroy Troy. Agamemnon did that. And if, as I admit, my actions hastened his attack, there is no doubt in my mind that he only awaited the opportunity."

Briseis wanted to hit him. She glared at him, her body rigid with anger. "Then why did you give it to him, Paris? If you _knew_—" she shook her head, unable to continue.

"I did it for love." He saw the agitated movement of her head, and forestalled her answer. "Father approved! He said it was more worthy to fight for love, than for greed, as so many wars are. He said it more noble." She snorted with derision.

Briseis stalked toward Paris until she was inches from him. "Your father, while good and kind, was a fool when it came to you. He always indulged you, Paris. And you—for love? What about _honour_? What about the shame of publicly eloping with the wife of an ally King? I cannot _believe_—!" she brought her hands up, clawed as if to throttle him, and then dug them into her own hair, twisting the curly brown strands in frustrated sorrow. She sobbed once and turned away.

Paris stood silently watching her cry, at a loss for words. Finally, he said, "And do you blame Helen?"

Briseis turned to him then, her eyes red. "No. How can I? I too have given my heart unwillingly to my enemy's slave. She is young and naïve, and though she was at fault… I cannot find any ill-will toward her."

"You… who was it?" A mixture of relief and disbelief warred on his face.

"I believe you lost the right to know when you killed him in cold blood, just as he had saved my life. _Cousin_." She turned, not wanting to look upon him a moment longer, and faced the sun. it has risen fully now, and sailed into the sky in blazing glory.

Paris was silent. Then, "I am sorry, Briseis. I thought he was trying to kill you."

_It would be better for our collective well-being if you would keep your thoughts to yourself_, she wanted to say. Instead, she pivoted slowly and looked into his eyes.

"You are a weak and foolish man, Prince of Troy." He stiffened.

She left him there, in the morning sunlight, all his faults laid bare in the bright, unforgiving glare.

* * *

One week later, Briseis discovered she was with child. She turned her face to the rising sun and smiled, her tears like diamonds in the early light.

* * *

So, if you like it, review. If not, flame me. I don't mind. 

Or just give me some constructive feedback. I'll name my firstborn after you. Or maybe just Briseis'.


End file.
